


Tactile Sense

by SprungSick



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Familial Relationships, Foster Care, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Like very very touch-starved, More emotional brain rot than an actual good fic rip, They are Brothers and they always will be, Tommy is just a kid who feels things strongly okay?, Tommyinnit needs a hug, Touch-Starved, Wilbur and Tommy being brothers, and he gets one, kinda venty, slight sensory overload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:41:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27554026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SprungSick/pseuds/SprungSick
Summary: Tommy is in the foster care system. Which is fine. He can easily weasel himself into an equilibrium, using his interpersonal skills to keep everyone happy and him safe.Of course, he has to trade all his vulnerability for security. Which is also fine....He hasn't hugged someone in nearly four years.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, No Romantic Relationship(s), They are family screw you, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 104
Kudos: 1739





	Tactile Sense

**Author's Note:**

> Mmm, Covid hits hard
> 
> TW/CW - foster care system, implied fighting, slight sensory overload, mental breakdown
> 
> Well, not super like a breakdown but the boy's gonna cry aight? 
> 
> Also, I am not trying to say that they act like this in real life. I'm just basing characters off of what they have shown us. These are real people, please don't assume anything about them or try to make them behave in certain ways! That's just weirdchamp guys come on-
> 
> Lol this low-key ain't my best anyways so rip me and everyone who reads this

He remembered very clearly the last time he had been hugged. 

Seventh grade, already tall despite the puffiness of his cheeks and thinness of his arms. His core teacher had been a beautifully aging lady, the corners of her eyes marked with wrinkles yet her smile vibrant and young; unlike all his other teachers, she hadn’t been scared to show her kindness in any way she could. This habit extended towards everyone, even him. Him, the bruised and loud and obnoxious kid that hadn’t yet learned when to quiet down. 

On the last day of seventh grade, she sent them into summer with a hug and a wave. He could still feel her arms. Smell her perfume. 

That summer, she retired and left him to battle a new foster home alone. He managed. He always could. 

His height shot up even further, eighth grade coming with him resembling a rambunctious teenager. At his height, no one tried to initiate contact. His stature was too awkward, too unwieldy, too untouchable for that. 

He didn’t really notice the year pass. 

Looking back on eighth grade, the change in him felt tangible. He had refined, more aware of social cues and stumbling through how to properly interact. He had sharpened, now more capable of deflection and distraction and all the skills necessary to hide. In hindsight, eighth grade was pretty okay. 

Ninth grade came with him moving into another home. They were adequate, unlikely to push past his humorous shields to reveal what he hid below. He had satisfied their curiosities well enough, his upbeat conversations and extensive reserve of energy tiring them out long before they realized how he dodged their questions. They were fine, really. A bit distant, but he would rather have amicable distance than uncomfortable closeness. 

He started holding himself at night. 

It was fine. 

A couple of weeks after he turned fifteen, he finally found the time to greet his neighbors. Most of them had been relatively cordial; he knew that they had no idea what to do with an abrasive teen introducing himself with a handshake and a grin. He was fine with that. 

Three people stood out. He found them all in the same home, despite later learning that they lived in separate houses. All three met him at the door. 

They were pretty nice. They liked his humor. 

He started playing games with them. 

Slowly, he found a new family. 

His foster parents had been somewhat reluctant to let him spend so much time with three adults - understandably, they assumed some sort of coercion took place. After a couple of high-energy days and subtle manipulation, the two turned their focus to their biological children and loosened their reign on him. He suspected that they were just glad he hadn’t gotten into fights. Or drugs. 

Some days, he would walk from school and into one of their houses. 

He rarely found himself at Techno’s door. The man’s night shifts and somewhat out-of-the-way flat made visiting him more of an event instead of a routine. 

Philza was also iffy at best, seeing as he was an adult that did adult things. 

Mostly, he found himself in Wilbur’s home. He had always accommodated his random drop-ins, occasionally even greeting him with a smile. Those afternoons stayed in his mind, becoming a part of his growing horde of protected things. 

Even if he didn’t physically shove himself into their space, he still found ways to talk to them. Discord quickly became his most used app. 

Ninth grade finished, shoving him into the tenth-grade hot seat. Things felt peaceful. Calm. 

He began focusing on any touch he could. 

A part of him laughed at his reality, mocking him with how sad it all was. He was surrounded by opportunities for touch, for vulnerability - yet he managed to avoid every single fucking one. It was impressive, really. 

At night, he hugged his pillow and shook. He tried to imprint the fake touch onto his skin, to ease the rawness puncturing his nerves. It never worked. 

He cried a couple of times. But it was childish and dumb. He was a fucking teenager, he could go a little while without a hug. 

He was fine. 

*** 

It had always worsened at night, or when someone offered any sort of contact. Any sort of tenderness. Aching pain would rip through him as if it were fresh, desperation slamming in his skull with every refusal and dismissal. 

At night, he would scream. Pleading for touch, for safety, anything. He had long since mastered the art of crying silently, of refusing to let out any sound as his insides tore apart and left a yawning hole. 

He clutched himself tightly. He waited for the morning. 

To anyone else, nothing happened at night. 

He made sure of it. 

*** 

So of course, the sky was dark when it all fell apart. 

*** 

After school, he walked past his foster home and straight towards Wilbur’s. It was one of his off days - why he asked Tommy to join him during his few days of respite, he didn’t know. Regardless, he made himself comfortable. 

They got onto a voice call with Techno and Phil. He realized that this was what home felt like. 

“Fuck- Wilbur, what’s the conversion from Celsius to Kelvin?” 

Wilbur replied easily, not looking up from his computer. “It’s Celsius plus 273. Don’t you have a conversion chart for this shit?” 

“I do, but I didn’t want to pull it out. Too much work,” Tommy huffed. He wrote down the conversion on the side of his paper, the margins already somewhat cluttered. 

“I’m not your personal computer. Figure it out on your own, gremlin.” 

Tommy stuck his tongue out. “Fine, I will. Consider my question rescinded!” 

A short silence. Wilbur tapped rhythmically on his keyboard. 

“Techno, what’s the conversion from Celsius to Kelvin?” 

He heard Wilbur snort loudly. “Jesus Christ, Tommy-” 

“Shut up, I didn’t ask you shit. Techno?” 

Techno’s voice crackled from the speakers. Even digitally, the extent of his sarcasm melted through. “That’s a good question. You know, I’m not really sure. Let me look it up.” 

“You suck-” 

“Oh, I’ve got it! It’s the Celsius value plus 273.” 

“Thank you, Techno,” Tommy called out sincerely. “That was very smart of you. I don’t think Wilbur would have known that if I asked him.” 

“Oh, you fucking prick.” 

The room erupted into laughter. Comfort surged through him, leaving him both fuller and lighter than he had felt in a while. He scratched at his paper with a smile. 

“Okay guys,” Philza finally said. “It’s getting pretty late and I want to eat something before I forget. Call me if you need me, yeah?” 

“That’s probably my cue,” Techno cut in. “Yeah, I should probably get off and do adult shit. God, having responsibilities sucks.” 

The two disconnected, leaving only him and Wilbur. 

“Well-” Wilbur leveled at him a grin- “Are you going to head back? It is getting pretty late. I don’t want to worry your parents over where you are.” 

Tommy waved a hand, dismissing the discomfort that came with the word. “Nah, I still have like three hours before I absolutely have to be back. Unless you want me to fuck off?” 

“No, I’m fine with you staying. We’ll just have to make something to eat.” 

“Perfect.” Tommy flashed a grin, jumping to his feet with a swipe of his hands. “I’m sticking here until you kick me out. Looks like it’s time for a good old-fashioned annoying-the-fuck-out-of-Wilbur session!” 

“And I already regret my decision,” Wilbur joked. He adjusted his sweater before also standing. 

“Come on, not so close to dinner time. You got anything in your fridge?” 

Wilbur hummed as they made their way to the kitchen. Despite being small, it housed the two of them perfectly well. “I have some leftover Chinese food that we can reheat. I can also whip up some pasta real quick.” 

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Tommy opened the fridge, sticking his head in and bending over steeply. “Holy shit man, you really need to go grocery shopping. And that’s coming from a sixteen-year-old.” 

“I was going to!” 

Tommy snorted, completing his survey of the refrigerator’s contents. He backed out just as Wilbur began to speak again, his back meeting something solid and- 

“Jesus Christ, be careful. You nearly knocked me out.” 

Tommy didn’t respond. 

When he tried to open his mouth, it didn’t comply. Instead, his entire world became the electric warmth of Wilbur’s hands on his shoulders, the sensation all-encompassing and pressing deep into a part of him he didn’t realize was whole. 

Wilbur quickly dropped his hands. An empty void replaced where his back should have been. 

“Shit, sorry. I forgot that you don’t like to be touched.” 

Don’t like to- 

What? 

He whirled around, eyes wide and a storm raging inside of him. He felt himself split at the seams, layers of skin peeling off - Wilbur just stared at him in confusion. He didn’t know. He didn’t know what a simple touch to his back did to him. 

“I like to be touched,” Tommy replied, voice small. “Not like in the creepy way, fuck that. I just mean, like- you can touch me. I’m okay with it.” 

The confusion in Wilbur’s expression expanded. “Okay.” 

Tommy felt himself shiver and crack. He didn’t understand what was happening. Of course he had felt something similar during the occasional handshake or high-five, but nothing matched this sudden onslaught of intensity. 

“Would you, uh. Would you like a hug?” 

Something inside him broke. 

Everything became overwhelming - the lights were too bright and his face seemed too present in his mind. Layers of himself dissolved by the second, leaving him trapped in a too-small body and fighting against waves and waves of too-large feelings. Fuck, he felt like he was experiencing everything for the first time. First discovering emotions. Discovering how to live. 

He tried to hold onto the last shred of himself still there. 

“How-” he coughed, attempting to regain control. His voice sounded too raw, too young for the situation. He couldn’t get it to stop. 

“How do you hug?” 

He knew how to hug. He did. They were on every television show, every movie, every piece of media created by man. 

He just- 

He just needed some assurance. Someone to spell it out. 

Wilbur’s face contorted strangely. It seemed like the weight of the moment had become clear to him. If Tommy had any presence in his own mind, he would have laughed at himself until the day he died. 

“First, you open your arms,” Wilbur began slowly. Tommy recognized that tone from when Wilbur tried to console a stray cat. “You don’t open them up very far, just enough to feel comfortable. The other person should do the same.”

Tommy nodded slowly and Wilbur continued. “Then, you come in close and wrap your arms around them. There are a couple of ways to do it, so just do what feels right.” 

“How do you do it?” He cut in, desperation seeping into his voice. 

“I normally go around their biceps. So like, they kind of just go under my arms and I go over theirs.” 

He couldn’t control his face. It felt like everything had reached its breaking point. 

“Can I…?” 

Wilbur opened his arms. Opened himself up to him, a loud kid who was too tall and too sharp to hold before he graduated middle school. 

He ran into his arms and felt himself shatter.

All he could focus on was the weight of Wilbur’s arms, how he wrapped around him and stayed there. How he pressed him closer and dug through all the filth and grime that he had coated himself in. How he hugged him, a young kid with no home stuck in the body of someone no one held. 

He gasped loudly, not fully aware of much. His brain melted inside his skull, overheating and spilling out his ears and onto his skin. His skin, skin so used to his own hands that it burned at the touch and left his nerves bare. 

Wilbur was shushing him, somewhere far away. 

Tommy trembled and cracked just a bit more. 

He vaguely registered how his own breaths left him erratically, the motion hiccupping his back in spurts of movement. The arms that used to hold himself now held Wilbur. Fantastic, amazing Wilbur, who simply stood there as he dug farther in and tried to increase the amount of friction, amount of warmth, amount of love- 

One of Wilbur’s hands came to cup the back of his head, gently pressing his face into his chest. 

The wail that left him didn’t sound entirely human. 

It seemed like his body forgot how to muffle his own cries, sobs and heaves and gasps leaving him completely alien and unknown. The heat from his chest and head spilled out of him. Overflowing. He had been overflowing since the second he was in the other’s arms. 

His balance failed and he found himself being cradled on the ground. Like he was some kind of child.

Another gasp was wrenched from his chest. 

Most children were worthy of being loved. Most children could cry and shout and be soft enough that they were worthy of care. They could talk, they could be open, they could be held- 

He heaved loudly. His lungs couldn’t get air. 

He wanted to be a kid so fucking bad. 

Wilbur rubbed circles into his back. 

Slowly, the crashing waves of his own mind lulled. The body surrounding him no longer felt like an overwhelming blaze - it felt like warmth, and home, and security. When he sagged further into Wilbur’s chest - no longer strong enough to keep his desperate grip - he actually registered the way he shifted. His breathing slowed. Everything seemed to ease in its intensity. 

Wilbur breathed deeply, strongly. Tommy tried to match it. He felt a layer of exhaustion drench him. 

“I’m going to order us some pizza,” Wilbur murmured roughly. Tommy nodded, face still buried in his sweater. 

Wilbur gently eased the two of them up, Tommy refusing to let go but scrambling up with him. He guided them to sit on the couch. Tommy readjusted so as to be wrapped around his chest while curled up on his side. 

He heard the sound of a TV turning on, followed by the low white-noise of some random show. Wilbur fished his phone out of his pocket and placed an order. 

Tommy fell asleep with his face buried into his brother’s chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, my totally original 'Tommy is an orphan' fic has been expelled from my head 
> 
> Honestly, I'm kind of surprised no one has used the premise 'Tommy is an orphan' to make Techno fuckign pwn him like it's right there- 
> 
> But yeah idk I just felt like there aren't enough fics of Tomster being shown a bit of love and him just collapsing 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed me losing my shit, although I think everything is a bit stilted in this one. I think I just focused too much on the emotion I was trying to convey and not the build-up to that emotion. Eh, rip me. Have fun with the brain-rot lads


End file.
